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My mouth just hangs open.
“You’re my mate. I care for you,” he says, like that’s an explanation.
“Don’t you see how ridiculous this is?”
“You’re my mate. I care for you. You don’t like it now, but you will.”
“I very much doubt that.”
He brings me closer. “Do you? Do you really doubt that?”
“Really,” I say, belly melting. Fucking caveman, I tell myself. Not into cavemen.
Softly, gently, he takes hold of my hair. He pulls down, as if he wants my throat fully exposed to him. I shiver a little as he presses rough lips to my tender neck. The entire surface of my body flames up with nerve endings.
I tell myself it’s the crisp outdoor air. The exercise. The fact I forgot about the kitten.
He slides his lips over my pulse point and up, then whispers low and rumbly into my ear, “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to catch a nice fat fish for us down there.”
“With my hands.”
“What are you? A bear? You can’t catch a fish with your hands.”
“I can, Ann. Then I’ll make a fire.”
“By rubbing sticks together?” I ask inanely. Because the rumble of his voice is doing something to my mind.
He lets my hair go. “I’ll use the lighter.” His tone is a dirty promise. “But if we didn’t have that, I’d rub sticks together. I’m home now. This place is mine. Everything here is mine.”
“Then I’ll cook it. It’ll be delicious and juicy, and you’ll eat it.”
“O-kay,” I say sarcastically. But he has that look. I’m paranoid, suddenly, that my body is getting aroused and leaving my mind behind. And that he’s smelling it.
“I’m going to feed you.” My heart pounds as he slides his hands over my arms, looking down at me, beautiful and wild with those kissable lips. “Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you.”
My belly drops through my shoes. “Um, excuse me?”
“You heard what I said. It’ll be best if you make yourself ready for me.”
“What? That’s what you think will happen here?”
The savage way he looks at me is a shot through my belly. “It’s what I know will happen.”
“And I’m going to make myself ready for you. That’s how you think this will work.”
His voice lowers. “You’re aroused already. I feel it on your skin. See it in your eyes. And your scent…”
Shivers come over me. “You’re dreaming.”
He puts a hand to the center of my chest and backs me up to the tree. He takes my hand and guides it toward my crotch. I pull, trying to reroute us, but he’s too strong. He grabs two of my fingers and moves them for me. I hiss out a breath as everything between my legs comes alive.
A few strokes, and I could totally get off.
“Don’t resist me.”
“I get the idea. Make myself ready. I don’t need your demo.”
He keeps on, guiding my fingers between my legs.
I gasp. “Higher.” He moves my fingers higher, and hits a spot that gets my mind melting.
“Shit,” I breathe, closing my eyes.
“Open your eyes. Open them.”
I keep my eyes closed. There’s not much he can do about it, being that he doesn’t have a third arm and hand.
He growls and bites my cheek. My eyes fly open. “Better.” He continues on, getting me off. Slowly, surely, I’m about to come.
“Feel it,” he says. “This is how you’ll make yourself ready for me.”
“For somebody who’s so sensitive about being as a savage,” I gasp, “you’re acting like one.”
“I think you like it.” He presses me more firmly to the tree. Bark gouges into my back as the pleasure rises between my legs. “This is how I want you. Ready for me to take you when and where I choose.”
I’m moving my hand on my own now, angling into all the best parts, because fuck it feels good. My breath heats up.
His breath tickles my ear. “This is how I want you getting ready for me, for when I bend you over.”
I’m angling to hit a certain spot, panting, mad with the buildup of pleasure. This is not me, turned on by a caveman like this. Mind and body taken over by a possessive brute.
His breath is velvet on my cheek. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me. No part of you can hide from me.”
ABOUT THE BOOK
Where is Kiro?
He’s the lost Dragusha brother, heir to a vast mafia empire—brilliant, violent, and utterly savage…and he’s been missing for years.
I’m supposed to be doing simple undercover research at the Fancher Institute for the Mentally Ill & Dangerous, but I can’t keep my mind off Patient 34. He’s startlingly young and gorgeous, but it’s not just that. He’s strapped way too tightly to that bed. And there’s no name or criminal history on his chart. What are these people hiding? My reporter’s instincts are screaming.
Here’s the other thing: the staffers here believe he’s so sedated that there’s not a thought in his head, but I catch him watching me when nobody’s looking. Our connection sizzles when I enter the room. When our eyes meet, I know he understands me in a way nobody else ever has.
I’m supposed to follow my editor’s orders—I have secrets, too—but everything about Patient 34 is suspicious. How can I not investigate?